"I just feel like, my world, is like, ending. You know that way where everyone is against you? It's like a massive conspiracy or something."
The teenage girl is pouring her heart out to me. I'm not sure why. Most of the kids don't want to talk to me. But she is really going for it. Blabbering on about her parents' divorce, her ex-boyfriend, her current boyfriend. The least you can do is listen, I tell myself, but I can't even do that. Truth is that I prefer the introverts. They just come in, say everything is fine, get out again - it makes things easier for everyone. I mean, it's not like I'm a psychologist or something. I'm just an English teacher. These interviews are just an extra few dollars on my paycheque. Headteacher calls it student counselling, or guidance tutoring, or something like that. Reality is that it's just me sitting behind a table, pretending to listen to stuff.
As I suppose you can tell, I'm not that serious about my work. Which is why, as this girl is pouring her heart out to me, I can't help but feel my eyelids getting heavier and heavier.
"Do you know what I mean?" she asks, just about pulling me out of sleep and back to reality.
I want to say 'no' to her. I want to tell her to get rid of all the piercings in her face, stop listening to terrible music, and go get a job or something. But I can't be bothered with all that, so I just mumble 'mmhmm' and take a swig from my water bottle. I should mention that I started filling my water bottle with vodka about a year ago. It makes the days pass quicker.
I grimace at the strength of my alcohol. She looks confused.
"That's good water," I say to explain.
"Well...do you?" she asks, ignoring my comment on the water, and reminding me that she has asked a question to which I haven't replied.
"Well...of course," I stammer, but I am sure she doesn't fall for it.
"What should I do?" she says, testing me.
"You know what they say," and on waiting, unsuccessfully, for her to finish my sentence, I am forced to add, "things will get better...soon."
She looks disgusted.
"Who says that, exactly?" she says, spitting as she does.
"Well it's not an exact quote," I try, "but the bible has that message. In places. Multiple times, actually."
I pause. We stare at each other.
"Is that everything?" I say eventually.
She seems offended by this and storms out. So I'm alone now. I sit back in my chair. Stretch out my arms until I hear my joints crack. That hurts, because it's the most exercise I've done in weeks. I grab my water bottle for another quick drink.
I realise that she won't be pouring her heart out anytime soon. Not in this office, anyway. I smile. Because that's just the way I like it.
*
Before we go any further, I should tell you that my name is Finch Smith.
And I'm an award-winning teacher.
The teenage girl is pouring her heart out to me. I'm not sure why. Most of the kids don't want to talk to me. But she is really going for it. Blabbering on about her parents' divorce, her ex-boyfriend, her current boyfriend. The least you can do is listen, I tell myself, but I can't even do that. Truth is that I prefer the introverts. They just come in, say everything is fine, get out again - it makes things easier for everyone. I mean, it's not like I'm a psychologist or something. I'm just an English teacher. These interviews are just an extra few dollars on my paycheque. Headteacher calls it student counselling, or guidance tutoring, or something like that. Reality is that it's just me sitting behind a table, pretending to listen to stuff.
As I suppose you can tell, I'm not that serious about my work. Which is why, as this girl is pouring her heart out to me, I can't help but feel my eyelids getting heavier and heavier.
"Do you know what I mean?" she asks, just about pulling me out of sleep and back to reality.
I want to say 'no' to her. I want to tell her to get rid of all the piercings in her face, stop listening to terrible music, and go get a job or something. But I can't be bothered with all that, so I just mumble 'mmhmm' and take a swig from my water bottle. I should mention that I started filling my water bottle with vodka about a year ago. It makes the days pass quicker.
I grimace at the strength of my alcohol. She looks confused.
"That's good water," I say to explain.
"Well...do you?" she asks, ignoring my comment on the water, and reminding me that she has asked a question to which I haven't replied.
"Well...of course," I stammer, but I am sure she doesn't fall for it.
"What should I do?" she says, testing me.
"You know what they say," and on waiting, unsuccessfully, for her to finish my sentence, I am forced to add, "things will get better...soon."
She looks disgusted.
"Who says that, exactly?" she says, spitting as she does.
"Well it's not an exact quote," I try, "but the bible has that message. In places. Multiple times, actually."
I pause. We stare at each other.
"Is that everything?" I say eventually.
She seems offended by this and storms out. So I'm alone now. I sit back in my chair. Stretch out my arms until I hear my joints crack. That hurts, because it's the most exercise I've done in weeks. I grab my water bottle for another quick drink.
I realise that she won't be pouring her heart out anytime soon. Not in this office, anyway. I smile. Because that's just the way I like it.
*
Before we go any further, I should tell you that my name is Finch Smith.
And I'm an award-winning teacher.